Harry Potter and the Bane of Merlin
by Welsh Red Dragon
Summary: Post OoTP. In this, Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, he delves into the mystery behind a powerful 1400-year-old mythical object that nobody even believes exists – except it seems for Voldemort. (See inside for full description)
1. Seeking independence

Harry Potter and the Bane of Merlin

In this, Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, he delves into the mystery behind a powerful 1400-year-old mythical object that nobody even believes exists – except it seems for Voldemort. Should it truly be found, the consequences could be catastrophic! In light of the prophecy comes a distinctly darker year, with fear and fighting widespread, but also hope in the form of self-discovery, determination, friendship and…love?

(AN - Should the intended 'shipping' of relationships in this story determine whether or not you would read it, then please e-mail me and I will gladly inform you. However, I would very much like to leave such details to be revealed in the story, for those who like it that way (it is after all how Joanne works!). I would also like to point out that, although relationships will be a feature in this story, this is not a romance fiction and, as such, the plot line is not going to revolve around them).

**Warning** – This story contains 'spoilers' that pertain to information contained within all five Harry Potter books published to date. If you have yet to read the Order of the Phoenix (or any other Harry Potter books for that matter) then I sincerely suggest you do so before reading this fiction. The rating of this fiction has been set at PG-13 for the meantime, but is likely to increase to 'R' as the story unfolds, for good reason. Please do not continue reading if you have any issues with either of these warnings.

Disclaimer – I do not own, or claim to own, any of the rights to Harry Potter. All copyrights belong to the wonderful Mrs J.K. Rowling. I'm also not making any profit from writing the following fiction. This disclaimer pertains to the whole fiction, not just the first chapter.

Right now that we got that out of the way, lets get on to the good bit...bon apatité

Chapter 1 – 'Seeking' Independence

(July 4th 1996)

He'd been waiting twenty minutes already and quite frankly he was starting to get pissed off. It was not that he was normally an impatient person by nature, it was just that he had no idea why he'd been brought to this room and asked to wait in the first place and already he was pressed for time. Even so, this type of reaction was usually out of his character. His old-self would have been quite content to sit here and wait, but recently his ire had been easy to ignite and quick to flame.  
Any psychiatrist would be quick to assure him that this kind of behaviour was quite normal, considering the awful year he had just had. However, speaking to a muggle psychiatrist was not an option for him. Not that he'd want to, even if it were. The thought alone made him snort in mild humour. He could just image the look on the quack's face as he told his life story. He would end up in a muggle mental institution before he could say _Quiddich_. At least it would make the Dursley's happy. Not that _that_ was high on his agenda. He could just image his uncle's reaction: "_knew the ingrate was insane all along...should have been locked up years ago!_"  
The humour however faded almost immediately; nothing recently could change his mood from its current default setting for very long, but it had at least managed to dampen his agitation.

In an attempt to try and pass the time and keep his volatile emotions in check, he went back to studying his surroundings. His current locality however wasn't really designed to help in this endeavour. The large room, rivalling the Great Hall of Hogwarts in size, was very sparsely decorated. In fact the only object worthy of any notice was the large, highly polished and rather grand conference table that was situated pride of place in the centre of the room. It was around this table that he was now sat, alone, waiting for a goblin that he had not asked to see, regarding matters that he knew not of.  
He had not anticipated this hindrance to his plans, which was now eating away at time that he did not have. Already he'd been away from 'home' for a number of hours and if the Order hadn't already noticed his disappearance, then they'd know about it soon. He'd seen to that. The last place he wanted to be when that happened was where he was now; otherwise he might as well just wave a flag and shout at the top of his voice. Diagon Alley would surely be the first place the members of the order would search for him. Doubtful thoughts began to pass through his mind; not for the first time that day and likely not the last either, as he once again questioned the sense and logic behind what he was doing. These thoughts however were swiftly dispatched as his conviction returned.

The few days he'd spent at the Dursley's after the sending off the order had given him at Kings-Cross, had not exactly been what he could call the best in his living memory. In fact they were up there rivalling with some of the worst. The Dursley's had not reacted well to Moody's threat and had been extremely cold and distant with him. But that had suited him just fine. What had made the time there so terrible had been the onslaught of emotion and anguish that came with being alone with his painful thoughts and memories.  
During the last few days at Hogwarts his mind had been too chaotic; full of worry for his friends' health along with the complete numbness that came with the fresh shock over the events at the Department of Mysteries and the disclosure from Dumbledore, to even begin to grieve properly or come to terms with what his future was to hold. However, alone in his small room at Privet Drive his mind had little else to do but to dwell on the painful memories of recent events.  
He'd known almost immediately that he couldn't remain at the Dursley's for as long as Dumbledore would want. The place held too many bad memories and the stigma of too many years of oppression for him to deal with his grief and process the information Dumbledore had given him. The household held no love or support for him and all he felt himself desiring was to be somewhere else and alone. Preferably to be some_one_ else as well.

It hadn't taken him long to decide to leave. He knew this was a dangerous idea; one that many would also say was stupid and would be against the wishes of nearly everyone he knew. But at this point in time, he also didn't care. The Dursley household, he now knew, was supposed to impart some sort of blood protection over him that could protect him from Voldemort and his minions. The order members and his friends would argue that he should remain there for his own protection. But last year two wayward Dementors, which had incidentally been ordered to attack him by the minister of magic's undersecretary, had miraculously wandered through this 'protection' without the slightest hindrance. This had been an 'unforeseen development' on Dumbledore's behalf. One that nearly cost Harry his life. Harry therefore failed to understand how, after failing to foresee and plan against this sort of simply executed attack against him, Dumbledore could so easily put faith in this protection and insist that all possible ways that Voldemort could get to him were covered. Quite frankly, Harry no longer held much trust towards the old wizard that had, for so long, been the man to which he had looked up to. Idolised. The old man had broken that trust, which just left Harry reeling; yet another emotion for him to deal with when he got to where he was going.

Leaving the Dursely's undetected had actually been surprisingly easy, which just added to his disillusion over the strength of his 'protection'. His invisibility cloak had, of course, played a vital role and the only real obstacle had been finding out whether Mad Eye Moody was on 'baby-sit' duty, as he had come to think of it, as his magical eye would have easily thwarted Harry's plans. Discovering who was on duty had actually been much more simple than he would have believed, considering the order also utilised an invisibility cloak. As it transpired, all he had to do was look out his window at the right moment to notice the ornamental birdbath in the garden fall, apparently on its own accord, to the ground accompanied by the sound of a cursing Tonks. Grasping his opportunity, he'd simply removed all the muggle clothing from his trunk, which was still fully packed from his return journey from Hogwarts, and stuffed them roughly into his school bag along with a few other essential bits and pieces that he would need. Hastily he scribbled a quick letter to Ron and attached it to the leg of his faithful owl, Hedwig. After telling her to take her time with the delivery and asking her to say with Ron for a while, he let her out through his window. The rest of his possessions he left locked in his trunk, which he placed in the wardrobe along with Hedwig's empty cage. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder and double-checking he had his wand on his person, he had donned his invisibility cloak and left his room.

It was only then that he'd realised the slight hitch in his plans of escaping under his invisibility cloak; like everyone else, he was unable to see anybody who was also using one. Randomly bumping into Tonks as she prowled the neighbourhood would have ended his escape plans immediately. He'd therefore kept to the borders of the garden in hopes that she would distance herself from such potentially trip hazardous zones. It seemed to work and he had been out of the neighbourhood faster than he could have imagined after initially coming up with the idea.  
This had been the point when he'd first doubted the logic behind his actions. He was after all in an emotionally bad state and therefore much more prone to making stupid mistakes; even if he was trying to suppress these feelings until he was safely away. Nonetheless, he'd continued on and ended up at the local Little Whinging train station. Using the £20 note that he'd 'borrowed' from his aunt's secret stash (the one she kept in the ornamental vase on top of the mantelpiece), he'd bought a single one-way ticket to London.

It had taken him a while to remember how to get to Diagon alley from the muggle side of London. After all the only time he'd walked to the Leaky cauldron from this side had been before his first year and even then he'd been following the shadow of his great friend Hagrid, through what was essentially a foreign city to him. Luckily he had recalled the name of the underground station they had emerged from all those years ago (the escalator had still been faulty) and using vaguely familiar looking shops and roads he'd tried to retrace the route they'd taken. After twenty minutes of wandering, he had found himself quite suddenly standing outside the grubby looking pub; an old, precariously swinging sign proclaiming it to be the Leaky Cauldron. The now familiar feeling of being able to see (or hear) something others around him could not had once again set in, as the unseeing general public had walked on by.  
The Leaky Cauldron had thankfully been rather empty and he'd wasted little time in moving towards the rear exit that lead to Diagon Alley. He had not wanted to be recognised by too many people - preferably none.

Diagon Alley was usually a hive of activity, especially at this time of year. A place that quite literally used to stun his senses every time he first joined the masses on the street. However, as he'd stood under the magical archway that was the entrance to this street, he'd found his first view of Diagon Alley in just under three years to be somewhat different to that to which he remembered. As with the Leaky Cauldron, the street was much quieter than usual. People seemed much less joyful and carefree, their actions more purposeful and rushed as if they couldn't wait to leave. The browsing of shop windows seemingly a forgotten pastime.  
Harry was under little disillusion as to the reason behind this change. Within the last couple of weeks, Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself had sent out a press release through the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet, finally warning the public of Voldemort's return. It was the fear of 'you-know-who' that was keeping people off the streets and in their homes.  
Knowing that he had little time, coupled with that fact that he was certainly not in the mood for window-shopping, Harry had headed directly towards the great white building that was the London branch of the bank of Gringotts.

So here he was. At Gringotts. Still. It had now been thirty minutes since he'd been brought to this room, in which he had lost any interest in long ago and Harry personally felt that he had waited long enough. Whatever business the Goblins wanted with him, could wait till a later date. It was as he consciously made this decision and rose from his chair to leave the room that one of the numerous double doors, that linked this room to Merlin knew where, opened and a rather sophisticated looking goblin walked in.  
"Ah Mister Potter I presume?" enquired the goblin, who walked to the nearest chair around the conference table and sat down, seemingly uninterested in any response. Harry just nodded to the affirmative; still rather annoyed at his long wait and by the fact that this goblin did not seem troubled by this or in any hurry to apologise. He hadn't even introduced himself!  
"Please take a seat Mister Potter, this may take a few moments" insisted the rude goblin, indicating the chair Harry had just vacated with a sweep of his clawed hand. Harry looked incredulously at the goblin for a moment but sat down nonetheless, breathing heavily and trying to remain calm.  
"I'm here to discuss with you the particulars regarding the accounts and assets of one Mr Sirius Black who according to our records is recently deceased," said the goblin in a flat business-like tone that gave no hint of any sympathy or compassion.  
To hear this goblin speaking about Sirius' death in such a blasé manner, nearly sent Harry over the top. His volatile emotions, already strained, swelled to bursting point as his anger rose within him; like a cobra preparing to strike. His hand was grasped tightly around the wand in his pocket. He could feel the sweat beads forming on his forehead and the quickened pulse in his neck. Somehow, he found some extra composure that he never knew he possessed and prevented himself from attacking the ignorant goblin where he sat. Outwardly however, the signs must have been obvious as the goblin changed his tact slightly. "I realise this is very abrupt Mister Potter, but we have found that the sooner these things are dealt with the better for all concerned" said the goblin, adopting what he must have believed to be a placating tone.  
"Mr Black's orders regarding the distribution of his wealth and property, in the event of his untimely death, are detailed within his last correspondence with us - a letter dated October 1st of last year" continued the goblin, as he searched for said letter amongst the bundle of documents in front of him. "As you can see" the goblin passed him the letter over the tabletop "he has decided to split the wealth within the Black family vault three ways. One third to each of the three parties involved, a Mr. R.J. Lupin, a Ms. N. Tonks and yourself of course. There is also a property involved, that of number 12 Grimmauld place in London, the deeds to which are also to go to you. The only clause written being, that Ms. Tonks is entitled to remove any family heirlooms or items that she should wish to take from this property at any time over the next couple of months".

Harry hadn't heard anything of what the goblin had just said; after being handed the letter he'd been lost within his own thoughts. Sirius' familiar handwriting was scrawled across the page and there at the bottom, his signature. This letter was yet another symbol of Sirius' pointless death and a mad urge to tear the parchment into pieces nearly took over him. He didn't want any more money or property, damn it! He would gladly give everything he owned, every Knut, to have his Godfather back.  
It was only as he heard his name called, as if from a great distance, that he returned from his trance like state. He wasn't sure if he could trust his voice, but he tried anyway. "I'm not..." his voice was very hoarse and shaky so he coughed and tried again "I'm not sure if I can deal with this right now, can't this be sorted out some other time?"  
"I can see that this is difficult for you Mr Potter but as I said before, it is better for all involved if this is dealt with promptly. Everything will be taken care of on your behalf, if you just sign the parchment" insisted the goblin who past a familiar looking quill towards him over the tabletop.  
Harry looked back down at the parchment in his hands, particularly at Sirius' signature. It was only now that he noticed that the signature seemed to have been signed in what looked suspiciously like blood.  
"It is policy that all signatures on official documents be signed in blood Mr Potter. For positive identification of course". The goblin had obviously picked up on his confusion and had answered his unspoken question.

The quill he had immediately recognised. It was of the same type as the one that Dolores Umbridge had forced upon him so many times the previous year, in her sick form of punishment. A blood quill. The surfacing memories of the unjust punishment he had suffered though, did noting to help the inner turmoil that was going on within.  
He could acutely feel the unrestrained magical energy causing though his body and he truly felt that if he didn't get out of this room soon, he might just cause something to explode. All he had to do was sign this parchment and he could leave.  
In one swift determined movement, Harry picked up the quill and signed his name at the bottom of the parchment; his signature also appearing as a superficial cut on the back of his hand. The accompanying pain was familiar and almost welcoming. He deserved it; after all it was his fault that Sirius was dead. He shook his head again to try and clear these painful thoughts; this wasn't yet the time to deal with them.  
"And if you could just sign here at the bottom of the deeds to the property, our business will be concluded" said the goblin encouragingly. Harry quickly took the proffered official looking document and signed where the goblin indicated; the cut on the back of his hand becoming slightly deeper.  
"Is that everything?" asked Harry abruptly, wishing nothing more now than to get out of the cavernous hall.  
"Yes. Thank you Mr Potter. These deeds will be placed in your vault along with your share of the monetary assets shortly. Griphook here will deal with any other business you may wish to complete before you leave," answered the goblin, briefly glancing over Harry's shoulder.  
Harry turned around and was surprised to see the familiar goblin standing behind him. He hadn't heard the goblin enter. How Griphook had known he was needed Harry couldn't fathom and to be honest at this point in time, he couldn't care less. Getting up quickly from the table he quietly followed Griphook towards one of the large double doors through which he had entered the room earlier.  
"Oh and Mr Potter?" The goblin called after him "You might like to know that since the death of your legal guardian, you now have complete access and control over your accounts here with us"  
Harry was taken aback. "I'm legally adult now?" he asked confused  
"Under Goblin laws you are" replied the goblin who, obviously seeing the confused expression on Harry's face, explained further: "Gringotts is not under the jurisdiction of wizarding law; has not been since the last rebellion in the late 17th Century. As for your wizarding laws, I am not completely certain as to the technicalities behind your situation. I do believe however, that since you are now over the age of 15 you have the reserve the right to choice whether or not another legal guardian is appointed. Naturally, you will still be subject to the same laws that abide to all wizards and witches your age".  
This was a little too much to think about right now, on top of all that had happened. So Harry just nodded and thanked the goblin whilst storing the information away for later analysis. He had all summer think these things over.

"You were very honoured Mr. Potter" said Griphook, breaking the silence that had grown between them as they reached the main foyer of the bank.  
"I'm Sorry?" replied Harry, having not entirely heard what the goblin had said.  
"I said, you were very honoured to have been served by Warkarl Mr. Potter, he is the branch manager and does not usually trouble himself with such tedious affairs".  
"Oh right" answered Harry dumbly. A rude and ignorant branch manager; who would have believed it?  
"Have you any other business you wish to attend to whilst you are here Mr Potter?" asked the goblin, seemingly missing the lack of enthusiasm from Harry's earlier response.  
"Uh...yeah! I wish to make a withdrawal from my vault" replied Harry, recalling his reason for coming to the bank in the first place.  
"I see. Well then please follow me"

One crazy, death defying, cart ride later and Harry found himself staring at the entrance to his vault for the first time in almost three years.  
"Vault number 687" announced Griphook pointlessly as he stepped out of the cart and inserted the key Harry had given him into the small keyhole in the door.  
Harry's eyes widened in awe as the door swung open "How is that possible?" he whispered to himself. The vault was full to over flowing with gold galleons. So much so, that some had fallen to his feet as the door had opened under the sway of gravity. On the nearest pile of gold, in plain view, were the deeds to 12 Grimmauld Place, which he had signed barely minutes ago. "They've transferred it already?" he asked incredulously.  
"All transactions are processed immediately," replied the goblin unhelpfully.  
"But..." Harry let the question die on his lips. This was too much for him to think about right now. He was here for a reason and time was passing by way too quickly for his liking.  
Quickly he began to fill his moneybag with gold coins and when that was full, he filled both of his trouser pockets. His task complete, he nodded to Griphook who closed and locked the vault door, after kicking a few stray coins back into the vault.

Having returned to the main hall and asking Griphook to point to him where to go, he thanked the goblin for his help and headed towards the vacant desk that he'd been directed towards. A large sign over the desk read 'Currency Conversion'. An old looking goblin was sat behind the desk and appeared to be asleep; his head propped up by an arm resting on the table. Harry, pressed for time, coughed loudly in an attempt to wake the goblin up. Almost predictably the goblin's arm jerked off the table and his head came within inches of connecting with the desk.  
"Can I help you?" croaked the old goblin in a tone of voice that clearly indicated that he wanted to do no such thing.  
"Yes please. I'd like to convert some Galleons into muggle currency" Harry replied.  
"I see. You should know that the percentage commission is set at 7.8" the goblin informed him, no doubt trying to dissuade him from going ahead with such an costly transaction.  
"Whatever" answered Harry who began to empty his pockets and moneybag onto the desk. The Goblin, after seeing the large amount of gold involved in the transaction, seemed to change his attitude quite considerably and became significantly more accommodating. Placing the coins in batches onto a pair of weighing scales, the old goblin counted the number of galleons before writing some calculations on a slip of parchment.  
"After subtracting the commission, the current transfer value of 187 Galleons is set at £862 sterling," said the old goblin with a flourish, after completing his calculations.  
"That's nice, but I only want half converted into sterling," replied Harry calmly.  
This seemed to surprise the goblin "Sir, I thought you said you wanted all this gold converted?"  
"I do" answered Harry "but the other half I'd like converted into the muggle French Franc."

-x-

There it is folks. The first chapter of my first fiction. Hope you liked it. Please review and tell me what you thought.

Take care,  
Welsh Red Dragon.


	2. Naked Reflections

Chapter 2 - Naked Reflections

The Snowy owl angled her wings just so and used the rising thermals from the city below to control her descent as she headed towards the familiar house. A house invisible to most. She landed on the windowsill to the bedroom that had temporarily been occupied by her master some time in the past. The window was not open, but it didn't matter. She was in no hurry to deliver this particular message, in accordance with her master's request. And so sitting quietly on the windowsill she slept for a while; head beneath her wing, before waking in time to watch the sun set. With the growing darkness her nocturnal instincts began to set in and she contemplated hunting for food; she was rather hungry. These thoughts were quickly dispelled however as the person too whom she was supposed to deliver the message flung open the window and urged her inside. She would hunt after she delivered the message she decided.

Ron took the letter from Hedwig's outstretched leg and thanked the bird with an owl treat. He hadn't been expecting a letter from his best friend so soon after the break-up from school.  
One read through of the letter later and Ron was staring blankly at the wall in disbelief. Slowly he looked back down at the letter in his hands, which seemed to bring him out of his shock. With a quick vehement "Oh Bloody Hell!" he turned on his heals and left the room at a run.

-o- (5th July 1996)

Hermione Granger quietly crossed the hallway and entered her bedroom, locking the door behind her. It was still reasonably early in the morning and her parents were likely still asleep. Hermione had always been an early riser for as long as she could remember. In her opinion, lying in bed in the morning was a complete waste of the best hours of the day. With no distractions and a fresh and clear mind, these early hours just after dawn were when she worked her best.  
Hermione had awoken early this morning, as usual, with plans to make an early start on the study that she had set herself for this summer. Being the summer holiday after the O.W.L. exams, this had been the first time since she had joined Hogwarts that she had not been given any summer homework. This she planned to capitalise on. Unlike most of her fellows in her year, that would likely take this opportunity to lie around all day and generally waste their time, she was going to study hard. There was a war coming. That seemed inevitable now and being a muggle born witch, that was incidentally a best friend of one Harry James Potter, she was likely going to be a part of this war whether she really wanted to be or not. She knew that she was smart; this was not something she flaunted, it was just how she was and if she was going to bring anything to this war for their side... it would be knowledge.  
Having gotten up early, Hermione had taken a shower to wake herself up properly, so that she could dedicate the whole day to study. Now that she was back in her room, she removed the towel wrapped around her body and began drying her soaking hair that lay long, straight and smooth. She loved her hair when it was wet. It was exactly how she would have wanted it to remain. However as soon as it dried, it always returned to the familiar bushy, curled state that took way to much time and effort to change. As she towel dried herself, her reflection in the full-length mirror caught her attention. It was not often that she got to see her body from this perspective. Living in dorms at school meant that standing around naked in front of mirrors was just something one didn't do. Privacy was something of a novelty at home.

One thing that caught her eye almost immediately was the scar. Looking from this perspective it looked a lot more extensive than when she looked directly at it. Madam Pomfrey had been unable to completely heal the wound she sustained at the Department of Mysteries. She had said that it was a magical wound that would not completely respond to any of her magical remedies and treatments. The purple scar stood out vividly against her pale skin. Watching through the mirror, she followed its path with a finger as it ran from the left side of her body at the costal arch, up and across diagonally to her sternum and over the rise of her right breast, narrowly missing the areola before continuing on towards her right shoulder. Madam Pomfrey had also assured her that had her attacker not been silenced when he had hexed her so, then she would most likely not have survived the experience. The wound, although it had left an ugly scar, had only been superficial. Had the death eater, Antonin Dolohov, been able to properly cast the Hex then it would, according to the nurse, have penetrated her ribs and intercostal muscles, lacerating her stomach, spleen and right lung severely. Apparently this would have resulted in her quite literally drowning in her own blood and digesting in her own enzymes, which was quite frankly not a pleasant thought.  
The trip to the Department of Mysteries, although being an almost complete disaster in her opinion, _had_ taught her many things. Not least of which was that she was not yet ready to fight in this coming war. Although the Death Eaters had outnumbered them, she still should not have fallen victim to that hex. Many times over the past couple of weeks she had berated herself over the incident. If she had only stunned or disarmed Dolohov instead of silencing him, then things could well have ended differently. After that point she had only been a hindrance to her friends, who had been fighting for their lives. Had she been fit to carry on fighting then maybe they would have managed to escape. She shook her head to dispel these thoughts; they had been taunting her long enough. 'What ifs' and 'maybes' weren't going to change things. Only hard study and practice would, and her conviction to dedicate herself to these things returned strongly.  
As she picked up her underwear, a random thought caused her to smile as she thought of the horrified reaction that she would get from Ron when he found out how she had spent her 'homework-free' summer weeks.

It was at this moment that something burst through the closed curtains that were pulled across her open bedroom window. The sudden movement and the fact that she was in such a state of undress, caused her to yell in surprise and try cover herself up as best as possible with her arms. The fact that she was in the process of putting on her underwear and was already unbalanced meant, that she ended up falling quite spectacularly to the ground in a heap of arms and legs. It took a few seconds for her to realise what was going on before she relaxed. Her scream had thankfully only been short and not particularly loud and she hoped she hadn't woken her parents. A small, feathery owl was doing circuits around the ceiling of her room, looking extremely excitable. Cursing under her breath at the noise the owl was making and at the un-thoughtfulness of Ron to have sent his owl to arrive at such an unsociable hour, she picked herself up from the floor and decided to catch the owl before he woke up the whole neighbourhood, let alone her parents.  
The tiny owl however seemed to have other ideas as to how this meeting was going to go down and continued to evade the naked girl's attempt to catch him. It was only when Hermione used her bed as a make shift trampoline and swiped the owl out of mid-air that she finally managed to catch him. As she looked down at the owl's tiny head poking out between her thumb and finger, all desire to admonish the annoying little bird evaporated. He looked so cute and seemed to be extremely happy; he hooted as if to say so.  
"Pig how many times do you need to be told? Deliver the message to the recipient not just to the room there in!" she reprimanded the owl lightly and with little fervour. Pig just hooted happily in return and she just gave it up as a lost cause. Deftly she removed the parchment from the owl's leg without letting him go; she didn't fancy having to catch the overexcited bird again. Just as she had achieved this task, there was a knock on her bedroom door.  
"Honey are you ok in there? I thought I heard a scream" the voice of her father came through the door.  
For a horrifying second, Hermione thought she might have forgotten to lock the door after returning from the bathroom. On instinct she made to jump down off her bed and cover herself, but instead her foot slipped on her quilt. Owl and parchment went flying as she fell and ended up landing heavily on her bedroom floor in a naked heap for the second time in as many minutes.  
"This is going to be a bad day I can tell," groaned Hermione as she heard the sound of her father trying to open the door.  
"Honey are you alright in there?" he asked, in an anxious tone.  
"Yeah Dad I'm just fine" lied Hermione. All she wanted to do now was to finally put on some clothes and end this embarrassing episode.  
"Well if you're sure?...Ok well I'm going to go make some breakfast now that I'm up" her father replied.  
"Ok Dad. I'll be down soon!" she answered; cringing slightly with the knowledge that she'd been the one who'd woken him up.  
Picking herself up off the floor, again, she walked back over towards the mirror determinedly and retrieved the previously relinquished underwear.

A few minutes later, fully clothed, Hermione searched for the parchment that she had dropped, finally locating it under her bed where it had rolled. Pig had thankfully settled down and had taken a perch on the top of her wardrobe. Her name was scribbled on the outside of the roll of parchment in Ron's familiar messy scrawl. Breaking the roughly laid wax seal she unravelled the parchment to find line after line of numbered code. A broad smile spread across her face.  
During her previous year at Hogwarts, after having had such success with the fake galleons for the DA, Hermione had spent quite some time on and off devising this secret mode of communication; a code, designed to allow them to send some potentially sensitive information to each other during the holidays, without the worry of interception. The idea had come to her quite spontaneously one morning early in the autumn term and she had immediately acted on it.  
The final design had been a code that utilized the substitution method with a slight twist. The encoding of a message with this code, she'd enthusiastically announced to her two closest friends once it had been completed, meant that it became unreadable to anyone without the ability to decode it. The encoding and decoding of the message was done using _coding ciphers_ (of which there were infinite possibilities). Hermione had produced 50 random _coding sheets_ each containing a single _coding cipher_, of which she had made two further copies, which had naturally been given to Ron and Harry.  
She knew it was possible her code could be broken, she wouldn't be so arrogant as to really believe it full proof, but without the _coding sheets_ the chance of decoding the message would be extremely difficult and time consuming. The remote possibility however, had meant that they had decided not to write any highly sensitive information to each other, except in extreme circumstances, such that if intercepted and deciphered any information the enemy gathered would hopefully be obsolete and no longer of any use to them. Further more, as a different coding cipher would be used for each message, if one message did get intercepted and deciphered by the enemy, any further messages they might intercept would naturally not be able to be decoded using the same method as the first.  
There had only been one slight hitch that Hermione had encountered when engineering her code; somehow the sender of the message had to convey to the recipient which _coding sheet_ to use for decoding. She had resolved this problem quite quickly when she realised a _cipher key_ (the information detailing which coding sheet to use)could be embedded within the code quite safely, as it would be complete nonsense to anyone not possessing the _coding sheets_. This worked so long as the recipient knew where to look for the 'key' and determine what it meant.  
The _coding sheets_ also presented her with another security risk; in the hands of the 'enemy', their messages to each other would suddenly be easy to decode. The final piece of security she had therefore insisted upon, had been to charm the sheets quite strongly so that only the rightful owner of the _coding sheets_ would be able to view the sensitive information written upon them. This was certainly not full proof, and so it had also been decided that if any of them even suspected that their copies of the _coding sheets_ might fall into enemy hands, they would destroy the sheets pre-emptively. Each of them also possessed identical prewritten encoded 'emergency' messages, which if this course of action had to be taken would, if possible, get sent to the others in warning.  
It had really been a stroke of genius on her part and even the boys had been quick to comment on that. Especially Harry, who she knew hated being out of contact over the summer; the effort had really been for him.

However, her smile soon faded as she realised what this could mean. It had only been a few days since they'd returned from Hogwarts, not even a week and the fact that Ron had used the code meant this wasn't a simple 'Hello'. Taking the letter to her personal computer, she carefully typed in the code Ron had written onto a word processor. Then, discerning which _coding sheet_ to use after finding the hidden '_cipher key_' within the message, she used the 'Find and Replace' function in the word processor to speed up her translation of the code. Within ten minutes she was finished.  
'One benefit of being muggle born' she thought wryly, also smiling at the thought of how long it had probably taken Ron to write the message. Hoping that she'd not picked the wrong _coder sheet_ she began to read the now relatively short message on the computer screen.

As she read, she realised her earlier prediction had been right. This was a going to be a bad day and things were only going to get worse. "Oh Harry, what have you done!"

-x-

Your thoughts?

Take care,  
Welsh Red Dragon


	3. Close Encounters

Chapter 3 – Close Encounters

(11th August 1996)

"Ladies and Gentlemen! If you vould please follow me this way, so ve may begin ze tour of ze castle" announced the lithe and rather pretty blond woman, in heavily accented English.  
The small crowd that had been milling around on the paved observation platform began to disperse in the direction indicated, leaving the young man behind.  
"Scuzaţi-mă… Excuse me sir?" enquired the heavily accented, feminine voice.  
Turning on his heals the young man came face to face abruptly with the blond tour guide, who momentarily seemed to be taken aback. For a second neither of them spoke.  
"Are you not part of ze tour group?" she asked, her eyes moving slowly away from his to check her clipboard, as if it would yield that particular answer.  
Curiously noting the slight blush appearing upon her cheeks, the young man answered, "I'm not".  
"But you vere on ze bus here, no?" she asked, a confused frown only slightly marring her beauty as she seemed to surreptitiously study him.  
Smiling warmly he replied, "I was. I paid for the transport here only".  
Frown deepening, the woman looked back down at her clipboard as if it was purposefully denying her the correct information "I see… So you vill not be returning vith us to Braşov?" She enquired sceptically, as if such a thing was unheard of.  
"That's correct" he replied.  
The lady, seemingly surprised, just made a quick note on her clipboard; her blond hair falling forwards partially hiding her face, and her disappointment. "I'm sorry to have bothered you sir… I haff to be returning to my tour group now," she spoke awkwardly, before turning and leaving hurriedly.  
The young man watched the woman walk away until her figure past out of sight, an appreciative smile on his face.

-o-

Having past out of his sight, the woman stopped briefly to compose herself before returning to her tour group. The man had affected her in a way she'd never experienced before in her twenty-two years. His eyes had immediately undone her, as surely as if he'd stripped her naked there and then. The deepness to his brown eyes had seemed to have gone on forever and had held a burden of knowledge and pain beyond that of his years. She had immediately been entranced and had found herself no longer able to look at them throughout their brief encounter, for fear of loosing herself in them. Instead, she'd found herself sneaking peaks at his handsome face whilst trying to pretend to be interested in the information held on her clipboard. His shoulder-length, light brown hair had been kept from falling forwards by the baseball cap he'd been wearing, which only helped to accentuate his eyebrows and deep searching eyes that had affected her so profoundly. Much of his face had been covered by several days' growth of dark stubble that hadn't completely hidden the wonderfully defined shape of his cheekbones and jaw.  
Having torn herself away, she had found her body all hot and tingling; walking away had not been easy. She'd never had such a strong, immediate, sexual reaction to a man like this before and she found herself consciously having to stop herself from going back to him. Somehow she knew that he would not be there if she did, just as strongly she knew that she would never see the man again.

-o-

After the shapely figure of the woman past out of view, the young man turned back to study the surrounding vista that offered just as an impressive sight. The Bucegi Mountains stretched ahead of him southwards towards the distant and even more impressive snow capped Capathian Mountain range.  
The quiet village of Bran was picturesque in itself. The castle with it's pure white walls and red tiled roof stood in stark juxtaposition to the forest covered, mountainous background; looking for all the world like something out of a child's fairytale.  
According to the pretty tour guide, the castle had been linked with 'Count Dracular', or rather the infamous Vlad Ţepeş. This apparently was the main reason why so many muggles visited the castle each year.  
The man smiled in humour, he would never understand muggles. Blindly refusing to believe in the existence of such creatures, yet willing to believe in their own myths and folklore surrounding them and travel half way around the world to immerse themselves in it.  
Naturally the 600-year-old castle had a rich and colourful history, which the pretty blonde had been more than enthusiastic enough to describe during the bus ride from Braşov. However, he was not interested in that. Unlike the muggle tourists, the castle had not been the reason for his visit.  
The view of the surrounding mountains had yielded all the information he required. With one last brief glance back at the castle, the man left without the notice of another living soul.

Two hours later, he was 10 kilometres South-Southwest from his last location. At first, he'd simply followed one of the many well-worn paths through the Bucegi Mountains. However an hour into his trek the path had veered quiet suddenly in another direction, forcing him to leave the path and make his own way by weaving between the age-old trees. This had not surprised him. In fact he'd been counting on it; it was proof he was headed in the right general direction. In truth he'd been sure of his movements all along; the number of times his best friend had mentioned the directions to his destination had now past into the realm of uncountable, but the signs had eased the traces of anxiety he'd been feeling all the same.  
After that point he'd actually started to enjoy the walk through the forest; it was so completely different to the type he was used to. Much more light penetrated through the canopy of well-spaced trees giving the forest a warm, pleasant feel to it. The sounds from the indignant wildlife were those of small harmless creatures, rather than the large and deadly variety, making him feel at ease rather than on guard. He was therefore surprised when, looking down at his recently purchased watch, he realised that it'd been almost an hour since he'd left the path.  
Having entered a clearing in the forest he looked back over his shoulder; half expecting to see some tangible proof of the distance he'd come. The trees lining the edge of the clearing however were too large and shielded from his view all those that were behind, making it impossible to judge any sort of distance. The beginnings of anxiety began to creep back over him; he'd been sure that he would have reached his destination by now.

It was as he turned back to face the direction he was walking, that a large sudden movement in his near-vision stopped him dead in his tracks. What he saw rooted him to the spot in fear. Towering above him was a Dragon that had reared up on its hind legs, the size of which he'd never even believed possible. It was easily half the size again of the other dragons he'd seen in his lifetime and this one looked extremely angry. A strange 'out of body' sensation seemed to take over him; as all his instincts told him to run but his muscles refused to obey. Silently he cursed at his carelessness.  
The Dragon let out a great roar of fury that sent a jet of flame, twenty feet long, streaking horizontally through the air above him. The hat flew clear off his head, caught in the resulting vortex of hot air. It never reached the ground. Although the flames were well above him, he could feel their intensity on his skin as the small hairs on the back of his arms began to singe. The man watched in stunned awe as the dragon cocked its head to one side as if inspecting the foolish creature that dared disturb its sleep. Then in a very swift motion it shot its head downward to strike.  
He closed his eyes, expecting the inevitable.

Seconds later, all limbs and extremities still attached, he heard a sniffing sound and slowly opened his eyes to see the dragon's snout immediately in his face. He let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and watched as the dragon sniffed at him again. Then. Amazingly. The dragon seemed to relax and settled back down on the floor, its head resting before his feet.  
It was only now as he realised that he wasn't going to be consumed by the dragon, that he began to take a proper look at it. He didn't know much about dragons; he would be quick to tell that to anyone who thought otherwise, but he did know enough to tell what breed it was. After all he'd seen one like it not five years before.  
As this thought crossed his mind, a curious smile crept across his face. Without even thinking twice, he reached out with his right hand and began to stoke the horn on the end of the dragon's snout, which he knew from countless times of being told was sensitive to the touch and also a highly valued potion ingredient. The smile on his face grew when he heard a deep rumbling sound that seemed to resonate through the ground. His suspicions were confirmed.  
The creature opened one lazy eye and seemed to sigh, letting out a puff of smoke from both nostrils.  
"Yeah it's really nice to see you again too," he replied softly, before taking a couple of steps backwards. Turning on his heals, intent on leaving the dragon to its rest, he began to make his way back towards the tree line from whence he came. However, he only got two steps before he was stopped in his tracks yet again.

Thirty yards in front of him stood a group of approximately fifty witches and wizards all staring at him open-mouthed; their wands held at their sides by limp arms and in some cases on the ground beside them where they had been dropped.  
Realising what a spectacle he must have just unintentionally made in front of these people, he closed his eyes in exasperation. "No change there then" he muttered, before gathering himself together and walking slowly over towards the group. As he got closer, he noticed that their eyes were darting back and forth between himself and the sleeping dragon behind him. Some looked outright terrified of him. Once he was within easy speaking distance he cleared his throat with a small cough.

"Uh Hi! My name is Harry Potter and I'm looking for Charlie Weasley. Is he around?"

-o-

With an audible _crack_, a large branch whipped across Charlie's path connecting painfully with his right brow, just barely missing his eye and leaving a nasty wound.  
"Damn it!" he cursed aloud, whilst using his right hand to feel for damage as he continued running through the forest. The incessant slow trickle of blood flowing into his eyes was causing them to sting and become unfocused. He therefore did not notice as he emerged through the last of the trees lining the clearing only to come to a sudden and rather painful halt as he ploughed straight into something solid and unyielding. A few stunned seconds later, finding himself lying flat on his back and staring up at a bright blue sky, Charlie groaned and got slowly back onto his feet.  
"Third time's a charm," he muttered to himself, as he quickly checked that his wand had not been damaged from the fall. Wiping the blood from his eye, he soon realised that the solid object he'd run into was in fact a colleague of his and not a tree as he'd first thought.  
"Hans, mate I'm sorry, wasn't look…" but Charlie broke off mid apology when he saw the expression of the man's face. His countenance was of complete awe and even more shockingly, fear. Hans Zimmerman was a bear of a man, well known for his stoic, reserved nature and a seeming fearlessness. The fact that these expressions were plastered across Hans' face, notwithstanding the fact that Hans had seemingly not even noticed that Charlie had ran headlong into him, put Charlie on edge. Something definitely had happened. It had not been a false alarm that had sent him running.

Charlie apprehensively followed the German's gaze through the crowd of his colleagues, which he was further surprised to see were all wearing similar expressions on their faces.  
He actually heard the voice of the stranger before seeing him. At first, Charlie thought his colleagues had been staring in awe at the sleeping Norwegian Ridgeback in the clearing, but that had made absolutely no sense; these people were professional dragon handlers who'd been working around dragons for most of their lives.

"_Uh Hi! My name is Harry Potter and I'm looking for Charlie Weasley. Is he around?_"

These words sent a chill through Charlie, as a plethora of thoughts and feelings seemed to bombard him in quick succession. A ripple of disbelief seemed to spread throughout the crowd, and somewhere to his left one of his colleagues fainted.

Like the biblical wizard Mosses who'd parted the Red Sea to allow the escape of the Israelites, the crowd moved aside swiftly, allowing Charlie to effortlessly cut his way through to the front of the crowd. At first the visitor looked pleased to see him, but the expression on the man's face changed when Charlie drew his wand.  
"Don't move or I'll curse you to Hogwarts and back I swear it to Merlin!" he yelled pointing his wand directly at the impostor's heart. "Did you truly think that I would fall for this blatant attempt at deception?"  
"Woah wait a minute Charlie…. It really is me!"  
"I must say, your master must be really scraping the bottom of the proverbial cauldron if he's recruiting those who think they can pass as Harry looking like that!" spat Charlie now extremely incensed at the impostor's guile.  
The unknown visitor looked taken aback for a moment and, to Charlie's chagrin, slightly amused as if this conversation was utterly inane. "Charlie there's a reason I don't look exactly like you remember. I have been trying to avoid attention from lot of people for the last several weeks, including the _Order_," he replied, raising an eyebrow as if to emphasise the last word. "Besides if a Death Eater was going to try and pose as me, do you really think they would do it now, here and looking so unlike the way everyone expects me to look?"  
These were all good points and Charlie found himself doubting his actions. Harry had been missing for well over a month now, despite the Orders best attempts at trying to locate the errant teenager. Even Dumbledore's inestimable power had been unable to yield any solid leads as to Harry's whereabouts. So what was to say that this man standing in front of him now wasn't Harry? These thoughts just left his mind spinning and, suddenly realising he had let down his defences, Charlie raised his wand again. Moody would not have approved of his lack of vigilance; this was all conjecture. Until he had proof, he was not going to let himself believe the man standing before him.  
The man seemed slightly confused by Charlie's apparent consternation, but recovered quickly nonetheless. "Charlie. Don't let my change in appearance fool you, it really is me…. you last saw me at Hogwarts during the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament!"  
This was hardly proof thought Charlie, before voicing his opinion. "It's well known I was there at Hogwarts at that time, and I expect many people saw me speaking with Harry." Despite his response, Charlie couldn't help but be swayed slightly by the man's reasoning. He certainly spoke like Harry, and there was just… something about him that seemed very familiar. He found himself wishing there were a way he could get a closer look without compromising his position.  
The fact that Charlie had not been swayed did not seem to anger the man, who instead smiled before suggesting; "How about you ask me a question only I….only Harry, could answer? Wouldn't that prove to you my identity? I expect Moody would approve," he added pointedly.  
If for nothing other than the comment about Moody, Charlie for the first time found himself believing the possibility that it was Harry standing in front of him. Besides, what Death Eater impostor would advise him to ask a question that only the true Harry could answer?  
Only for the sake of complete vigilance and he had to admit the fear of retribution from Moody should he be wrong, did Charlie try to think of a suitable question.  
A number of questions popped into his head and some he'd almost asked before stopping himself at the last second. The problem he was facing, causing him to dismiss these questions before asking them, was that he couldn't think of any questions that he could ask which didn't implicate himself as a member of the Order or knowing information about said movement. He was beginning to worry about this, when suddenly a suitable and rather convenient question presented itself within his mind that he knew he could ask safely. With an amused smile he looked over the man's shoulder.  
"If you really are Harry then you'll be able to tell me the name that Dragon behind you."

-o-

Following Charlie's lead, the young man glanced over his shoulder at the large sleeping dragon, which it seemed had not been interested in the drama unfolding before him one bit. "Well if it is who I think it is, which I have to say I'm have trouble believing" he answered; turning back around to face the wary redheaded wizard, "then… its Norbert?" he asked raising a questioning eyebrow.

-o-

Welcome relief flooded through Charlie as he heard the answer; his wand dropped to his side as the implications of what this meant hit him, accompanied by a multitude of questions.  
"Actually he's known by a different name" replied Charlie as he slowly approached the man, a welcome smile on his face. "Only five people knew him by that name and I'm one of them." Lifting his wand slowly, Charlie parted the light-brown hair that was covering the man's forehead to reveal the familiar and rather famous scar. As if a curtain had been pulled away from his eyes, Charlie was suddenly able to see past the wrong coloured hair, the wrong coloured eyes and the facial hair to the friend that was beneath.  
"Hello Charlie"  
"Bloody Hell!…Harry!" Charlie exclaimed, grasping his shoulders firmly in greeting "It's great to see you! What in Merlin's name have you done to yourself?" he asked the first of many questions that were whizzing around in his head, like so many golden snitches.  
"That's a long story," answered Harry, smiling at Charlie's obvious vexation.  
"And where the bloody hell have you been?!" asked Charlie before Harry had even finished answering his first question.  
"That's an even longer story," laughed Harry, glancing pointedly at the crowd behind Charlie's back; they were all paying avid attention to every word.  
"And do you realise the stir you've cau…" Charlie halted when he caught onto the hidden meaning in Harry's glance. Taking a look over his own shoulder, he leaned in towards Harry "Perhaps it'd be best if we continued this in private" he suggested in a whisper.  
Harry just smiled and nodded his approval.  
"Ok. I'd better go have a word with this lot," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards his colleagues. "Just….Don't go anywhere," he pleaded with a laugh.

-x-

AN – Well there you are folks. Thanks to many nights of insomnia, I have been able to bring you chapter 3 before planned. I hope to upload another before Christmas (more time to write!). Most of you are probably wondering what's going on with the time frame in this last chapter. Basically, the weeks between this and the last chapter are not going to be dealt with directly in this story. This has been planned from the start and will be the only major time shift in this story - I promise! Although not directly dealt with, what happened during the 'missing weeks' will be incorporated into the story in bits throughout. You'll therefore get the relevant information when they become…well relevant. There are many reasons I did it this way, not least of which; it will be easier to write. I also wanted to get on with the story, rather than get bogged down with many weeks of Harry on his own at the Dursley's recovering/bereaving from the events of the fifth year. This doesn't mean that these things wont be dealt with, they certainly will, just slightly differently. Please review and tell me what you think so far – your input is much appreciated!

If I am unable to get the next chapter up before Christmas, then I wish you all a very Happy Christmas and New Year!

Thanks to: Larna Mandrea – for my first review! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far and will endeavour to keep up with the unique plot line.

P.S. - For anyone who is interested, I believe:  
Scuzaţi-mă is pronounced 'skud-azi-mer'  
Ţepeş is pronounced 'zepesh'  
and Braşov is pronounced 'Brashov'

Take care,  
Welsh Red Dragon.


	4. Re Acquaintances

Chapter 4 - Re-Acquaintances

"Harry. Welcome to Dragon's Dale," said Charlie, as they both crested the top of a partially forested hill, presenting a view that overlooked a small picturesque valley containing a modest gathering of dwellings that were clustered within a clearing.  
"It's beautiful," replied Harry sincerely.  
"My second favourite place in the world" stated Charlie, stopping briefly alongside the younger wizard to take in the view.  
It really was quite beautiful and Harry could easily see why Charlie liked it so much here. For a moment he was tempted to ask Charlie the obvious question; what was his favourite place in the world? The redhead in question however, had begun moving down the hill, and Harry felt like he already had a fair idea as to what the answer would be to that particular question. So taking one last glance at the scenery, Harry hurried after Charlie's departing figure.

Having entered the small glade, Harry took a closer look at the buildings that he was now walking amongst. The closest thing he could really compare them to was the wooden hut, located on the grounds of Hogwarts, that was home to his great friend (and professor) Hagrid. That description however didn't nearly do justice to the certainly larger and, he had to admit, better built cabins that seemed to magically blend into the surroundings exceptionally well. Harry had no trouble believing that if a muggle were to ever walk through this glade, they would do so without ever noticing a single one.  
"Welcome to my humble abode" announced Charlie, bowing comically in front of the door to one of the furthest wooden cabins, in a very 'Weasley-twin' like fashion.  
"Oh Merlin, it really does run in the family!" joked Harry, laughing at the comical expression elicited from the redhead.  
"Just giving you the traditional Weasley welcome," said Charlie, feigning offence.  
"Would that be including practical jokes, or is that the special brand of Weasley welcome?" inquired Harry, teasingly.  
"Oh the insult! Rightfully I should defend my family honour and challenge you to a duel" jested Charlie. "But considering your freakish sway over dragons… I think I'll reconsider"  
"Oh, you saw that then" mumbled Harry, embarrassedly. "I was sort of hoping you hadn't."  
"No, I did miss it. Although I wish I hadn't" exclaimed Charlie. "If the stunned ramblings of my colleagues are to be taken seriously, I gather you somehow managed to command Norbert into submission?" said the redhead in a questioning tone of disbelief, whilst unlocking the front door with a casual wave of his wand and a muttered incantation.  
"I wouldn't exactly say that!" laughed Harry "I didn't exactly command him to do anything, he just sought of… relaxed at my feet"  
"Harry" said Charlie seriously, turning to face the younger man as the door swung open. "Dragons are not tameable and they certainly don't just relax when you walk into what they consider to be their domain. By all rights you should be dead right now".  
"Yeah, I kind of guessed that was why all those wizards looked a bit shocked" said Harry.  
"A bit shocked? That's putting it mildly!" laughed Charlie as he stepped over the threshold into his home. "You've achieved in one attempt what many people have spent their whole lives trying to accomplish."  
"Oh well that's just marvellous!" replied Harry in mild sarcasm, as he followed the redheaded wizard through the door. "Yet another thing to add to the extensive and ever growing list of freakish facts about Harry Potter."

"Butterbeer?" inquired Charlie; his disembodied voice emanating from the general direction of the kitchen.  
"Yeah that'd be great" Harry shouted back. It'd been months since his last bottle (the stuff really was quite addictive), one of a multitude of small things he always missed every summer during his annual exile from the wizarding world and virtual imprisonment at the Dursley's. Harry shook his head in a determined effort to rid himself of these thoughts; they never lead anywhere good. He was free of the Dursley's now and he would not be going back. Regardless of what Dumbledore said. Harry instead directed his concentration towards a more productive pursuit; analysing Charlie's living room.  
Predictably, there was one very definite theme to the room; Dragons.  
'He's obsessed' thought Harry bemusedly. The Mantelpiece (over a decidedly small fireplace – for wizard standards at least) and glass cabinet on the south wall were adorned with at least one ornamental model for, what Harry was certain must be, every single breed in existence and maybe even a few that had become extinct, if the sheer number of models were anything to go by. Even the candle stick holders, that were evenly spaced along the wood panelled walls and the handles for the doors all followed rigidly to the theme. Harry was examining the fine detail on one of the candlestick holders; shaped in the form of a roaring dragon spreading its wings in fury when, hearing a noise behind him, he turned to see Charlie entering the room along with a blur of motion as something travelled across the room at high speed towards him. Reacting on impulse, Harry snatched the object out of the air, inches before it would have hit him square on the nose.  
"Glad to see they weren't over exaggerating those seeker skills of yours" grinned Charlie, walking over towards the small fireplace.  
"Glad to see that your chaser skills weren't over exaggerated too" replied Harry, smirking as he took a seat.  
"Touché"  
Taking a sip of his butterbeer, Harry closed his eyes and sighed; the first bottle after the summer holidays was always the best. Feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time he slowly allowed his eyes to open, his vision gradually focusing on Charlie who was standing in front of a mirror that hung above the mantelpiece, examining what looked to be a nasty gash above his right eye. Wiping away the residual blood covering the wound, the redhead lifted his wand and with obvious concentration, slowly made small circling motions above the wound. Ending the continuous circling with a definitive flick, Charlie cast a charm Harry had never heard of before; "Sanosectus". Harry watched in silent fascination as immediately, starting from the deepest layer outwards, two sides of the wound began to come together and heal seamlessly.  
"Useful charm to know" said Charlie, having seen Harry watching through the reflection in the mirror. "Can't count the number of times it's come in handy"  
Harry only nodded in agreement; quietly making a mental note to research more on the subject later. Honestly he couldn't believe that he hadn't already thought of it before now….events at the Department of Mysteries may have gone differently….all those injuries his friends had sustained because of his rash actions….  
As his train of thought trailed off, Harry noticed that Charlie had taken a seat across from him. The small talk had ended and Harry knew, with the kind of acceptance always associated with complete certainty, what was going to come next. He wasn't exactly looking forward to answering the many awkward questions that Charlie and undoubtedly the Order were going to throw his way.  
It seemed however that Charlie was unsure where to begin and looked to be deep in thought, occasionally glancing at Harry contemplatively as he sipped on his bottle of butterbeer. Finally the questioning started and the first one was not the question Harry had been expecting:  
"I presume by the fact that you've come here, that you're ready to return home?"  
'G_ood question_' thought Harry '_am I?_' He took a few seconds to word his answer right, before responding. "Well that depends on where you define as being 'home'. But yes, I have decided I'm ready to return".  
Charlie seemed to visibly relax upon hearing this, something that Harry did not miss. "Your obviously pleased with that answer" he pointed out, smiling at the embarrassed expression that had appeared on Charlie's face.  
"Yeah well, I wasn't much looking forward to the prospect of possibly having to force you to return," replied Charlie, looking down at his hands that were absently twirling the bottle of butterbeer.  
"So long as you don't insist on taking me to Grimmauld Place, then that will likely not be and issue" Harry assured the elder wizard.  
"In that case it definitely won't be an issue," stated Charlie "Grimmauld Place has been inaccessible since…well since you left actually" he said pointedly, giving Harry a questioning look.  
This was certainly news to Harry, but immediately he had an idea as to the reason. Deciding not to divulge this piece of information just yet, he kept his expression purposefully neutral. "When you say inaccessible, what do you mean exactly?" he asked.  
Charlie seemed almost disappointed in the response, as if he had been expecting more. "Quite strange really. The day your letter to Ron arrived, the house just wouldn't appear any more, regardless of whether one knew its location or not. Except apparently Dumbledore, who could see the house but couldn't enter it" answered Charlie. "No one could apparate or Floo in either, so those inside at the time didn't know anything about this, until they realised the Order members weren't arriving for the meetings. Got my mum wound-up good and proper I can tell you; thinking the worst had happened" continued Charlie, shaking his head.  
"Don't tell me they've been stuck inside all this time?" asked Harry, starting to feel horribly guilty.  
"Oh no. Those who were inside could leave; they just couldn't get back in again once they had left. Problem was there was no way of contacting those inside".  
Harry was very relieved to hear this. "So what happened?" he asked.  
"Well Moody was the first to leave the house and when he didn't return, mum got really hysterical. Apparently she hid the Floo power, confiscated all the broomsticks and forbade anyone to go near the front door or even the windows. Of course Tonks could apparate; she was the next to go. Eventually, and I'm talking weeks here, mum finally had no choice but to leave herself to try and find out what was going on. I think she would have stayed there indefinitely if Ron hadn't pestered her so much" smiled Charlie. "As for Ron, Hermione and Ginny, they were left strict instructions to remain inside should mum not return."  
"Ron, Hermione and Ginny are still inside!" asked Harry, the guilty sinking feeling returning full force.  
"No!" laughed Charlie "Not surprisingly they left the next day when Ginny found the hidden Floo powder! Apparently Hermione was outnumbered two to one."  
A smile spread across Harry's face. That sounded like his friends all right.  
"So where are they now?" he asked, knowing they were likely to be wherever the Order had relocated their base of operations.  
Charlie pointedly cast furtive glances around the room. His point was clear; even here their conversation wasn't guaranteed as secure. After a couple of seconds, Charlie replied. "Put it this way" he spoke quietly "The grandfather clock points to twelve when I'm there".  
It took Harry a couple of seconds to understand what Charlie could possibly mean by that. Finally the meaning registered along with a surprised look on his face. He wouldn't have predicted this and to be honest he wasn't too happy with the arrangement either. Sure the Order would have insured the location had increased protection over the charms already in place, but still…  
Charlie, obviously seeing the change in Harry's expression, interrupted his train of thought "I know what your going to say, but the place is very secure now" he said, interpreting Harry's thoughts well. "And if you'll allow me, that's where I'll be taking you."  
Harry nodded absently, as more concerns about the arrangement ran though his mind.  
"Will I need an invitation?" He asked the older wizard, emulating his cryptic means of communication.  
Charlie smiled, obviously happy that he wasn't taking security lightly. "No, although we're planning on making it 'invitation only' very soon. You timed things well."  
Harry wasn't sure he agreed, but he was happy they were considering the Fiddelus Charm. Being associated with himself and the Order put the property and more importantly the people that lived inside it, at much greater risk. On the other hand, he was looking forward to returning much more now that he knew where he was going. To tell the truth, he'd also not been enjoying the prospect of having to refuse Charlie should he have insisted they return to Grimmauld Place.

A brief period of silence built up between the two wizards, as each became lost in their own thoughts. Charlie was the first to break the reverie. "A lot of people are going to be very relieved to see you Harry"  
'_Relieved; not happy_' thought Harry bitterly, whilst staring fixedly at a spot on Charlie's floor.  
"I have so many of questions I'd like to ask" admitted Charlie "but I know you going to have to answer them again when you get back to the Order, and I can tell you're not exactly looking forward to that" he continued perceptively "so I'll wait".  
Harry looked back up at the older wizard sitting across from him and smiled in gratitude.  
"You should know that some members of the Order are not going to be as easy on you" warned Charlie.  
"Yeah, I know" groaned Harry. Charlie hadn't been wrong; he was not looking forward to the inevitable meeting with the Order one bit.  
Downing the last of the butterbeer, Charlie got to his feet and crossed the room. "I suppose it's about time we make a move, before news of your presence here travels."  
"How are we going to be travelling?" asked Harry, glancing towards the small fireplace wearily.  
Catching Harry's inquisitive glance, Charlie smiled in amusement "Only there for aesthetic purposes Harry. Romania doesn't have a Floo network to connect to."  
"Oh right" replied Harry, surprised. "Flying then?" he asked optimistically, he was hoping it wasn't…  
"Portkey" said Charlie, reaching into a glass cabinet adorning one of the walls and bringing out a familiar looking object. "You don't seriously think I fly every time I return home do you? It's a rather long journey to make by broom, could you imagine the discomfort? Wouldn't be able to walk straight for days, I can tell you. "  
Harry grimaced at the thought. "Well actually, I guess I thought you normally apparated" he replied.  
"Apparating long distances is very hard Harry. The further you want to go, the stronger the magical power, concentration and experience you require" Charlie informed him." And I'm afraid to say I'm not that confident in my apparating abilities to risk it."  
Harry nodded in understanding. After all, unlike other forms of wizard travel, the magical power involved in the process came from the wizard who was doing the apparating, and with greater distance came a greater chance of error. The thought of what that error could result in, was enough to turn anyone's stomach.  
Finishing his own butterbeer, Harry slung his rucksack over his shoulder and walked over to Charlie to investigate the object he was holding.  
"A Chinese Fireball right?" he asked, recognising the model as being identical to the one Victor Krum had pulled out of the small, purple, silk sack that each of the 'Champions' been presented with before the First task.  
Charlie looked extremely pleased "That's right. I'm impressed!"  
"Their names kind of stick in your mind when you're facing the prospect of being eaten by one" replied Harry pseudo-sarcastically.  
"Ah yes. The first task. You know, I really wish I could have been there to have seen that" said Charlie wistfully "from what I heard you put on quite a show!"  
Suddenly Charlie's eyes lit up. "Hey, do you want to see her again? A quick detour, not far out of our way" he asked enthusiastically.  
"What do you mean out of our way?" asked Harry, confused. "Couldn't we just use the portkey from here?"  
"I'm afraid not Harry. Come on I'll explain on the way" replied Charlie, already making for the front door.

"You know we don't have to go see this dragon Charlie" insisted Harry, having to almost jog to keep up with the obviously enthused redhead.  
"Nonsense Harry! Can't have you going back home after coming all this way without seeing her again" replied Charlie, obviously misinterpreting Harry's reluctance as politeness. "Besides her lair is more or less directly in or path. We'd almost have to go further to avoid her."  
The path they had followed since leaving Dragon's Dale was headed in an easterly direction, towards what looked to be quite a high mountain in the near distance. The prospect of having to climb it, along with the imminent re-acquaintance with another dragon; which had incidentally been intent on killing him the last time they had meet, was quite frankly disquieting.  
Catching Harry's glance up at the mountain, Charlie smiled "Don't worry we wont need to climb most of it, we just need to get around to the other side."  
That was some good news at least. "Uh, why is that exactly?" asked Harry.  
"We need to be in a catchment area to use the portkey" Charlie answered "and this one is by far the closest."  
"Catchment area?" asked Harry, now thoroughly confused  
"That's right" mused Charlie. "You know, sometimes I forget you were brought up with muggles."  
"Common mistake" laughed Harry.  
"Right. Well Portkey travel isn't quite as simple as it seems" explained Charlie, as the path they were following took a slight turn to the north. "You see when an official Portkey is made, the creator sets the point of departure and a point of destination and a new route on the portkey network is established. When that portkey is then used the journey is along the route created, which is a direct line between the two points that were specified."  
"Seems simple enough" replied Harry, ducking a branch that whipped across his path.  
"Oh if only it were" laughed Charlie. "In Britain, the use of portkeys during the last few centuries was very popular. It was actually only quite recently that the ministry brought in its regulations. Some time in the seventies I believe. One guess as to why" said Charlie pointedly.  
Harry could guess all right. '_Voldemort_'.  
"The Portkey network over Britain is therefore quite intricate; like a very detailed spider web."  
"Not an analogy Ron would take to" laughed Harry  
Charlie smiled. "But you see it's very different here on the continent, especially in Eastern Europe. The use of portkeys has always been highly regulated and very few official portkeys have ever been made."  
"So the network is not as intricate," added Harry.  
"Nowhere near" replied Charlie. "Hence the problem."  
"I'm afraid I don't follow," said Harry.  
"This portkey" said Charlie, briefly pulling the model of the Chinese Fireball out from the inside pocket of his cloak. "Like nearly all those that Dumbledore creates, is not official."  
"But I've travelled using unofficial portkeys before and they've all worked fine" replied Harry, shuddering at the thought of where some of those portkeys had taken him. He really did loathe travelling by portkeys. The prospect of using one again soon, was definitely more nauseating than having to see Hungarian Horntail again.  
"There's a reason for that" replied Charlie, directing Harry onto a smaller path that branched off the one they'd been travelling. "You see Harry, an unofficial portkey doesn't set up its own route on the network; that's why unofficial portkeys are so notoriously difficult to track. In Britain, the lack of a designated route is hardly a problem, as you're rarely anywhere that's not within the catchment area of an existing route. When using an unofficial portkey, you basically just hijack these existing routes and travel between them and the portkey intrinsically takes you along the quickest route."  
"But without the intricate network to hack into, that's a lot more difficult to do here" said Harry, catching on.  
"Exactly" answered Charlie. "Luckily for us, there's a portkey route that goes between Bucharest and Warsaw that conveniently goes over us not too far from here. We just need to get within the catchment area, which inconveniently is just the other side of that mountain…watch your step there"

Returning is concentration back to where he was going, rather than the conversation, Harry halted suddenly in shock as he found himself only yards away from the edge of a cliff overlooking another small wooded valley.  
Two hundred feet directly beneath them, spreading out from the base of the cliff, was another similar sized clearing that housed yet another familiar dragon. Harry relaxed, as he realised this was the closest he was going to get to it.  
"Viscous that one" said Charlie, the reverence in his voice rivalling Hagrid's for such creatures.  
"Yeah" muttered Harry, unconsciously rubbing his right shoulder. "I remember."  
"Soon she'll be a mother," said Charlie, smiling happily.  
It was only then that Harry realised that the Horntail was sitting on a clutch of eggs, just like during the First Task. "Charlie. Those aren't the same eggs she was protecting the last time I saw her, surely?" asked Harry in disbelief.  
"They sure are Harry" answered Charlie enthusiastically; he was in his element. "The gestation period of the Dragon's egg is very long and varies further depending on the species. This one here laid her eggs not long before you saw her during the Tri-wizard Tournament and the Horntails gestation period is almost exactly two years."  
"No wonder she was so protective of them" replied Harry in surprise.  
"Quite ironic really when you consider how long she'll tolerate them once they've hatched. Within a year, those that survive will need to be relocated and she'll likely never mate again" said Charlie.  
That was certainly strange, but Harry wasn't really too bothered as to whether or not the Horntail mated again or not. Keeping their numbers down seemed like a smart idea in retrospect. Seeing the Horntail again however did bring up another question he'd intended to ask the older wizard. "Charlie, how is it that Norbert's grown so large? He's easily pushing twice the size of the Horntail down there?"  
"He's a male Harry, they all grow much larger than the females…except curiously for the Asian Red, nobody exactly knows wh…."  
"But Norbert's not even five years old!" interrupted Harry.  
Charlie shook his head in amusement. "By five they're fully grown Harry. Norbert's already sired one brood; they're due to hatch in about eighteen month's time."  
"Really?" replied Harry bemusedly. Norbert was going to be a father. Hagrid was going to be ecstatic!

"Charlie, about what happened back at Norbert's clearing..." said Harry fifteen minutes later, as they both returned to the main path.  
"Yeah, that was a serious breach in security you caused earlier" laughed Charlie. "My colleagues are going to be talking about your visit for years to come!"  
"I didn't mean to cause so much trouble" apologised Harry.  
"Nonsense Harry, you just gave the wards a much needed test and proved they seriously need improving! The important thing is you're alive."  
"So there are wards in place?" asked Harry. "Other than the muggle repelling ones I mean."  
"Oh naturally Harry. We can't just have anyone wandering into the reserve whenever they feel like it without us knowing" replied Charlie. "Poaching would otherwise be a huge problem; nearly everything about the dragon is valuable on the black market. Even their dung sells well as fertilizer" he laughed. "The whole reserve perimeter is encompassed by detection wards and there are secondary wards surrounding each of the clearings."  
"So the outer wards failed to detect me?" inquired Harry, now slightly out of breath; the path was definitely getting steeper.  
"It seems so" answered Charlie, glancing curiously at Harry. "We only detected your presence when you set off the wards surrounding Norbert's clearing. That certainly got our attention, never ran so hard in my life!"  
"How come you didn't apparate?" asked Harry, bewildered.  
"Ah. There's the other major security measure," answered Charlie. "Anti-apparition wards. There's one covering the whole of the reserve. After all, there's no point in having the peripheral security wards if all one has to do is apparate straight into the clearings" stated Charlie. "Besides, there's also the issue of our own safety."  
Seeing the look of confusion on Harry's face, Charlie elaborated further "You see, in the past, before the anti-apparition wards were discovered, apparating was used here all the time here to get around the reserve. However there were a couple of incidences where a few wizards apparated in a bit too close to one of the Dragons… a nasty way to go!" he shuddered.  
Harry wholeheartedly agreed.  
"Although sometimes… Merlin, do I wish they weren't in place!" exclaimed Charlie emphatically, as they entered an empty clearing on the side of the mountain. "All this trekking certainly keeps me fit."  
"Uh Charlie, there isn't supposed to be a dragon in this one is there?" asked Harry, glancing around nervously.  
Charlie's laughter echoed around the clearing "No Harry, relax! This clearing is far to close to the reserve's boundary for us to even consider homing a dragon here. In fact, I think we've probably come far enough" he stated, glancing straight up at the mountain peak that had moved around to their South. Reaching into the inside pocket of his robe, Charlie removed the Chinese fireball model and held it out in his palm towards Harry.  
Seeing the model again brought with it the strong feelings of wariness and foreboding he now associated with portkey travel. Harry knew his reluctance to travel by such means was just a conditioned response due to his prior experiences, but knowing this wasn't exactly helpful in combating the issue. The last three times he'd travelled by portkey, had either immediately preceded or followed a traumatic event in his life and now, just the thought of having to take another trip by portkey was enough to make Harry want to retch.  
"You OK Harry" asked Charlie concernedly, noticing the younger man's reluctance to take a hold on the model.  
"I'm fine" replied Harry, as he forced himself to reach out and touch the model dragon.  
"You sure"  
Harry nodded in response, not really wanting to open his mouth.  
Charlie gave Harry a searching look, but finally raised his eyebrows in defeat. Waving his wand over the model, Charlie muttered something Harry hadn't expected to hear: "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus."  
Noticing Harry's surprised expression, Charlie smiled. "Activation password. Quite apt don't you think" he asked, before flicking his wand sharply down to tap the model in one swift movement with a concurrent "Activate".  
Harry felt the all too familiar feeling of the 'hook behind the navel', as the portkey whisked them off their feet and away from Eastern Europe.

x-

A.N – Finally! I apologise profusely for the extreme lateness of this update, but the last couple of months have been…interesting to say the least. Many things have combined together to conspire against my update schedule (not least of which being that I've had to write this chapter twice! – damn that electrical surge) and so it is with great relief that I can finally get it uploaded for you all. I realise this chapter doesn't go so far as to deal with a lot of the questions raised by the first few chapters, but we'll get there soon I promise. Let me know what you thought?

Gallandro – I very much appreciate being placed on your C2 archive, its name alone gives great compliment. I'm glad you enjoyed the featuring of Norbert (I had great fun writing him in) and with regards to the keeping away from HP-fanfiction clichés I intend to continue doing so. You had a couple of questions/queries so I'll do my best to answer them: Hermione's scar - A healing wound is often a vivid colour initially after the trauma and takes quite some time for the lighter scar tissue to be laid down. However with regards to Hermione's wound, its purple nature stems more from the fact that it's a magical scar and has manifested some of the attributes of the curse itself (Joanne described the curse as purple). The 'cameoing' tour guide – All I can say is, with this story, you never know what will happen ;)  
Fondycheesehead – Glad you're enjoying the originality, with so many HP-fanfictions out there it's a lot harder than it sounds.  
Trunks2598 – Events from the missing weeks will be dealt with in upcoming chapters. Scouts honour!  
fhippogriff – Having expected to get negative reviews with respect to the time shift, it was nice to receive the opposite. As you say, anything to freak-out Dumbledore!  
Mistrose, BferBearShadowed RainsEgyptian Flame and ScrewyLouie12- Thanks for the encouragement! It's true; I do seem to write faster with them.

Take care,  
Welsh Red Dragon.


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